


Even Landlocked Lovers Yearn

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Multi, Polyamory, Polyfidelity, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been seven years, four months, and a handful of days since Neal last saw Peter Burke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Landlocked Lovers Yearn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the White Collar LAS prompt "surprise" which asked for a maximum wordcount of 700.

It’s been seven years, four months, and a handful of days since Neal last saw Peter Burke, in a tense exchange of looks over the stubborn curve of Agent Kramer's shoulder.

Seven years. Seven too many.

Neal feels like the island’s sunken into him, his skin long-ago tanned to a darker shade, hair lightened, heart adrift. He hasn't been stateside in so long he feels his sealegs unsteady on the solid ground. The LaGuardia baggage claim area buzzes around him but it's all white noise, city clatter after nearly a decade of ocean calm and the lilting voices of his fellow islanders. He didn't check anything, brought only what fit in his shoulder bag along with the lie of a passport that got him out of New York in the first place. Nothing from the island belongs here. Including James Maine, possibly.

"Neal."

He turns, surprising himself. He'd thought the habit of responding to that name would have eroded away to nothing by now, like everything else has. Peter Burke is standing there with Elizabeth, and the force of those seven years shedding away in seconds threatens to keel Neal over.

This is why he's here. Their letter had simply said, _Come back. It's safe now. You’re needed here._ After so long, senses dulled, hands gone impossibly idle, it hadn't occurred to Neal to question. Up until he'd opened that letter he'd felt safe in Cape Verde. Another lie.

Peter looks both the same and completely different: sturdier in the shoulders, greyer at the temples, wiser around the eyes. Elizabeth has gotten more gorgeous, all laugh lines and dimples, hair in a loose bob along her jaw. There's something else different about her, something Neal is itching to find out first-hand, skin on skin like they used to, the three of them, the safe press of bodies where they couldn’t hide anything from each other.

But there is a kid on Peter's hip, maybe six years old, scrawny legs dangling, skinny arms looped around Peter's (his dad's?) neck. And Neal can't breathe for a moment -- and then it's like he's taking his first breath in years.

“Hey, Peter.”

Over Peter’s shoulder, the boy is looking at Neal, scrutinizing. He has Elizabeth’s dark hair, her button nose, but Neal sees in him someone else’s jaw, someone else’s mouth, a small smile that looks capable of real damage if used right. The boy’s eyes are strikingly similar to Elizabeth's. And to Neal’s. There is nothing of Peter in the boy, except the look he’s levelling Neal with as he clings to Peter.

“This is Jack,” Peter says thickly.

Neal comes closer, heart pounding. “Hey, Jack. I’m Neal.”

“I know,” Jack mumbles against Peter’s shoulder, eyeing Neal curiously. “Mom and Peter have a lot of stories about you. Are you really a pirate?”

Neal raises an eyebrow at Peter, who just purses his lips into a smile but stays silent, leaving Neal to handle this.

“You could say that,” Neal says, eyes back on the kid.

Jack eyes him for a little longer, then lunges for him, little arms reaching, latching onto Neal unexpectedly. Neal accepts the small body without thinking, cradles him closely, looking over at Peter, puzzled.

But it’s Elizabeth’s eyes he catches. Hers are wet, thankful. And so, so blue. Neal’s breath catches again, just as his heart starts breaking with the realization.

Jack loops his arms around Neal’s neck and hugs hard, clumsy and real. “Peter always said you’d come back for me when it was safe.”

Neal’s hand goes to the boy’s back, and the pieces click into place, leaving him dizzy, trembling, wanting for air.

“Peter always tells the truth,” Neal agrees shakily, hugging him harder, with both arms, his face in the boy’s hair, breathing him.


End file.
